


Odd Eyes

by jeejaschocolate



Category: B-PROJECT 鼓動＊アンビシャス | B-PROJECT: Kodou Ambitious
Genre: Attraction, Canon Compliant, Kissing, M/M, Mentions of Sex, Swearing, Touching, developing feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 07:43:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7792861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeejaschocolate/pseuds/jeejaschocolate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Goushi didn’t notice that Momotarou had odd eyes until they were sitting next to each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Odd Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> So, yeah, as you can imagine, I watched episode six. Aaaand here I am lol. This fic has a lot of spoilers for that episode (in fact most of the plot is centered around it), so be aware of that!
> 
> Something about this pairing just kind of clicks for me. I don't know where the show is going to go with it, but at least we have this small bit of fun for now :)

Goushi didn’t notice that Momotarou had odd eyes until they were sitting next to each other. 

They were waiting at the bus pick up stop, en route to the workshop for the Okita Souji audition. It was barely six o’clock in the goddamn morning. Goushi—the exact opposite of a morning person—was keeping himself going on nothing but the iced coffee Tsubasa bought for everyone and his own pride. Damn if he was going to take a nap while the other two from MooNs were awake. (He knew their names, obviously, B-project had been working together for while now, but he didn’t want to act like they were close. They weren’t. In this case, they were even rivals.) 

“Eh, Mikado-san?” Tsubasa stammered out. (How that girl managed full sentences most of the time with her lack of confidence, Goushi will never know.) “A-are you sure you need to download the rest of that episode onto your phone? We’ll only be on the bus for a few hours and our driver should be here any minute…”

“Ne, ne, of course Tsubasa-chan!! I’ve been waiting for this episode of _Witch Girl_ for weeks! Well, one week, but…don’t worry! Only twenty minutes left of downloading time.”

After wrangling Mikado from the local mall’s wifi hub, their de-facto manager began fiddling nervously with her phone. She muttered something about how she was _sure_ she told the bus driver to be there at six…was there traffic? But why wasn’t he answering his phone…? 

Sighing, Goushi plopped himself down on a bench and decided to just ignore all the commotion as best he could. How the hell was he supposed to survive a couple of hours in close quarters on a bus with these people? So much noise and nonsense. How the hell would he survive the workshop, too…? 

The THRIVE artist pulled out his script book and began practicing lines from the play in his head. He liked the idea of playing a Shinsengumi member (though he would have preferred Saito Hajime, but Okita Souji was just fine) and the script so far looked alright. Except what was with some of these lines? Whoever wrote this play had quite the unique vision of the Shinsengumi. Kind of interesting, even if it was weird as hell.

Suddenly the red-headed guy from MooNs slid himself into the small space next to Goushi. Just sat himself down as casually as anything, staring off into the distance like he barely even cared who’s space he was invading. 

Goushi instantly bristled at the close quarters. He shifted away with a loud grunt, shooting a look at the red-head. (Really, there was another bench just across from them, the guy had to sit in this exact spot? Seriously?)

“…Late sunrise…” the slim artist muttered. To himself more than anything. “A bad omen.” 

The hell? Goushi thought, glancing over at the other man in annoyance and disbelief.

“…Spirits will linger if the sun stays down…” this guy continued, heedless of the man unwillingly sitting next to him.

That’s it. No way Goushi could concentrate with all this bizarre whispering going on. And, the way their elbows could not help but touch, (just barely but still, the THRIVE artist could feel the other man’s wispy clothes on his arm like a knife to his skin). Goushi snapped his script book closed. 

He rounded on the thin red-head and said, “Plenty of space over there, you know. Do you have to talk nonsense right next to me?”

It seemed like it took more than a few seconds for the other man to recognize he was being spoken to. That pissed Goushi off even more. He was about to growl out another insult when the red-head slowly turned his head to look him in the face.

“Ah. …Sorry, Kaneshiro-san,” he said in a soft, cold voice. He wasn’t smiling self-consciously. In fact the red-haired man looked strangely apprehensive. “This seat gives me the best angle to watch the sunrise, so…” 

“Like that’s important?” Goushi scoffed. 

He searched the red-head’s face for any hint of remorse or even vague self-awareness. But there was none. The guy wasn’t even making eye contact with him, just looking down somewhere near Goushi’s chin.

Far from looking like he wanted to get up (which would be the polite thing to do, Goushi was sitting there first, damn it!), the red-head’s body seemed to sink more firmly in place. His shoulders dropped a little and he let out a long stream of feathery breath (which Goushi could feel on his face, goddamn it all, because of their close proximity).

Goushi wiped his chin in annoyance, as if the red-head’s intense gaze and soft breath were another intrusion—this time actually reaching out to him.

Then the MooNs artist closed his eyes. When he opened them again he looked sharper, more certain of something. His bangs fell carefully over the left side of his face, hanging there like a privacy curtain—as if seeing all of this man’s face would be indecent somehow. 

Something blue sparkled underneath a sea of soft red, and Goushi peered closer. 

Odd eyes, he realized. This guy (ok, Momotarou, he would admit he knew his name) had two different colored eyes, one red and one blue. Had he always been like this? Why had Goushi never noticed before…?

“Kaneshiro-san…” Momotarou began quietly. “Are you…also waiting for the sun to rise?”

There was a calm edge to the red-head’s voice that made Goushi’s head spin. Who the hell said weird shit like that in such a relaxed voice? Like what he was saying made any amount of sense? Beyond that…why did the man’s voice sound like he was singing, even when he was clearly just talking? 

Goushi’s skin prickled all of a sudden. The morning had just gotten a lot cooler out of nowhere. Perhaps a cold breeze passed over them, but Goushi didn’t feel any wind…

And why did it feel like Momotarou was suddenly ridiculously close to him?

…Nope. Too much.

“Shut up.” Goushi snapped on instinct, rising to his feet. “You’re…weird, man.” 

He gathered himself with a deep breath and shuffled angrily over to the next park bench. Momotarou watched him from the corner of his eye, not turning his face. Goushi crossed and re-crossed his legs a few times from his new seat, forcing himself not to look back at the other singer. 

What a weirdo! Goushi thought. Coming over to him just to mumble something about sunrises and spirits? And those odd eyes? Goushi could not remember meeting an idol like that before, so flighty and strange. Was this another subset of people in the business he had yet to meet?

He shook his head, forcing a shiver out of his body as well. Whatever. Momotarou was probably a flake. Best to just focus on the audition, let that other guy do whatever he wanted. 

Who cared. 

Finally, after another half hour, Tsubasa’s bus driver arrived. They made the long drive to the workshop retreat, annoying the hell out of Goushi along the way. 

Those two other members were really something, Goushi mused. Prattling on about this and that without even pretending to be serious about the trip. Well, not him! He would work all the harder, pushing himself and pushing everyone else out of the way. He would end up being the one to represent the group and they would be left wondering why. 

Still, making fun of Mikado and Momotarou was pretty great. For a guy who boasted to have some kind of “preternatural ability” (spirits or whatever), Momotarou looked confused after every snide remark Goushi made. Did the red-head even understand he was being teased? Too easy! 

…But, it took some of the fun out of it when Momotarou did not even get upset…

Eh, guys like that were too weak to insult. Hardly a fair fight. Goushi decided to leave him alone.

___________________________________________________________

As soon as the retreat started, Momotarou turned everyone’s heads. Or maybe they all did, Goushi could not tell. B-Project was still fairly new on the scene, but they were making some headlines. Mixed reviews overall. Some nasty rumors flying around about Ryuuji. 

Either way, whispers followed the group like background noise wherever they went. Some people openly stared at them from a safe distance. Were they staring at Momotarou? Goushi wondered. After all, Momotarou was clearly the most interesting looking person there, with his strange demeanor and odd eyes. Goushi would not be surprised at all to find some weird rumors starting right now because of that guy. 

Why couldn’t he be more normal? 

Still, if you were going to be weird, you had to also be basically drop-dead gorgeous to make up for it. And clearly, Momotarou was absolutely stunning. With the way his body moved so fluidly through the space around him. His step was graceful like a woman’s but controlled like a man’s. Exacting. As if Momotarou could walk without thinking about his feet. 

Yeah, people were probably fascinated by Momotarou. Who wouldn’t be?

…Pissed Goushi off a little. But so what? None of that mattered; they were here to get the part, that’s it.

Then that one guy (the hell was his name? Creepy-faced guy with a hard-on for kendo?) called Momotarou out in front of everyone. He had to drag Mikado and Goushi into the fray along with him. After that people gave such a wide berth to the B-Project team it was like they had the plague or something.

Tch. 

This whole audition began to turn Goushi’s stomach. 

Of course something crazy happened right away. During the first kendo practice, that creepy guy hit Momotarou’s hand with the flat side of his katana. A real hit, too, like they were actually fighting. 

At first, Goushi expected there to be blood. He ran without thinking to Momotarou’s side (they were kindred band members here, the three of them had to be a united front if everyone else was against them). Thankfully, it just looked like a bruise, Momotarou was not bleeding.

Goushi sighed in relief right away. Shit, why had he been so afraid to see Momotarou get hurt?

Holding his hands out in front of himself uselessly, hovering in the air around Momotarou, Goushi watched for any signs that his bandmate was seriously hurt. A flake like this guy would probably burst into tears at any moment from even a slight injury. Goushi prepared himself for the inevitable waterworks and whining…

But Momotarou just winced and looked back up at his opponent with a discerning look. Far from whimpering in pain, he was rounding—turning back to the guy and reading his next move, his motivation.

As if Momotarou barely even cared he was hurt.

Goushi’s eyes widened in shock and fascination. What the hell was Momotarou thinking, refusing to back down like that? Insisting he was alright and could fight again? 

What the hell kind of resolve was that?

For the rest of rehearsal, Goushi saw Momotarou brave his pain and perform. …Crazy, he should have been taking it easy on his hand! But in all honesty, Goushi knew how Momotarou felt (really? now he could suddenly relate to that guy? Yeah, he could actually). Goushi would never let a little bit of pain stop him from finishing an audition, from backing out of practice. It was a matter of pride, a mark of professionalism. 

Momotarou was a true artist. A professional to the end. 

___________________________________________________________

Goushi stood in the convenience store with a pack of cooling strips in his hand. Shit, he thought, Momotarou must have been in a lot of pain after pushing through the rest of the day without stopping. He would need these cooling strips for sure, and a guy as flighty as that probably didn’t own any already.

…But why should Goushi buy them for him? The guy had the rest of MooNs and Tsubasa taking care of him. He should be squared away! Besides, Goushi was not his care-taker, barely even a friend. Just a performance partner…a bandmate. 

The cold packs shifted inside the box. Goushi sighed.

It couldn’t be helped. After seeing his strength, Goushi had to admit that he really respected Momotarou. He knew he did…but, he was just surprised to feel such a thing. For a guy as weird as Momotarou. The odd eyes flighty one. 

No no, that wasn’t right. Momotarou could not really be a flake if he had such strong will inside of him. In fact, no labels seemed to fit the red-headed man at all. So Goushi decided to work out exactly what the guy’s deal was.

If he could figure that out, then maybe he would stop having to think about Momotarou’s brave, concentrated face. That stupid face…slim and angular, with a look of determination…Goushi could not get it out of his head.

Fine, fine. He would take the cold packs to MooNs and get out of there. No one needed to know he was spending this much time thinking about Momotarou. 

Stomping into the hotel where MooNs was staying, Goushi told himself that none of this mattered. He was just bringing cold packs to a bandmate, a guy who had gotten hurt during rehearsal. A normal thing to do.

Even if Momotarou was decidedly…not normal. 

It occurred to Goushi that perhaps Momotarou himself would be the one to answer the door. For some reason, Goushi seriously hoped not. He suddenly did not want to have to stare back into that serious, alarmingly pretty face. He could not look at the red-headed man and talk like he had any idea what he thought about him. He could neither compliment him for being strong, nor belittle him for being odd. 

So fuck it. He would just stay silent the whole time then.

Thankfully the other two opened the door.

…And of course, Mikado and Momotarou followed him downstairs. Goushi tried to downplay everything, but they were honestly thankful. Momotarou even nodded and—smiled? Goushi’s eyes twitched as he tried to make sure. Was that guy…actually smiling at him? At Goushi? Those odd eyes sparkling…? 

Somehow they all ended up getting ramen together. Momotarou talked his mouth off about spirits, which Goushi scoffed at. Ridiculous idea. 

But then…the guy spoke with such conviction. Like he knew exactly what he was talking about, and if there were still any unsolved question, he did not pretend to have all the answers. Like this—ghosts and shit—was natural for Momotarou.

…Was it?

They made their way through the rest of the meal. After they paid, Goushi stood outside in the alley near the restaurant smoking a cigarette. He had not exactly said goodbye to those two, but, he expected they would just leave on their own. Or something. 

Goushi just stood there, smoking. Thinking. He tried to remember if Momotarou had ever looked straight at him during their meal. For some reason he could not remember. But he had a feeling that if the red-head glanced his way, Goushi would have remembered.

He would have been able to feel those eyes on him. Branding him with their strange focus. 

“Kaneshiro-san?”

Jolting alert, Goushi spun around. Of course, speak of the devil. Startled out of his mind, Goushi coughed on his own cigarette smoke. Like an idiot.

“Damn it, Onzai…” the black-haired man grunted, in between coughs. “You…scared the—ugh, damn…what’s your problem sneaking up on people?” 

“My apologies.” Momotarou combed the right side of his hair behind his ear. “I wanted to thank you again for the cooling strips.”

“It’s…fine,” Goushi asserted, looking away. “Like I said, I had some lying around so…” 

“Hm, still.” Momotarou’s eyes glinted like he knew the other man wasn’t being honest. “It was kind of you.” 

Goushi shrugged. He stomped his cigarette out on the floor, not feeling like smoking anymore. 

“Well, then, good evening—”

“Hey are you—”

They both started speaking at the same time. Shit that was awkward! Goushi rubbed the back of his head, fighting down a blush, while Momotarou smiled sheepishly.

“Sorry, you…go ahead…” the THRIVE artist began.

“No no,” his odd-eyed bandmate replied. “I was finished. Please, continue.” 

Of course Momotarou would be polite here. Even now when Goushi was regretting opening his mouth at all. But fuck it, he had come this far. 

So, the black-haired man continued. “Are you sure you want to keep rehearsing with your hand like that?”

“Of course. This is nothing, really.” He held up his bandaged hand in demonstration.

“Yeah, but I mean…what if it’s worse than you think and then you just…make it even worse?” Goushi wanted to make sure his bandmate was seriously thinking about this. Not just putting on a brave face like some idiot. 

Momotarou shrugged. He looked at his bandages with scrutiny. Then, of all things, he started unwinding the wrap to expose the wound underneath. Goushi cried out in protest, but the red-head ignored him, dropping the clean wrappings to the ground and extending his hand further.

“Why don’t you see for yourself?” 

Goushi stared at the hand like he was eyeing some kind of animal that might bite him. What a weird invitation…but then, this was Momotarou of all people. Probably wanted to bring Goushi over and then read his palm or something…but no, obviously, the other man was being completely serious. No fooling around—which honestly, he never did anyway.

But the THRIVE artist hesitated. He remembered what it felt like to be in close proximity to Momotarou and the thought put him on edge. He remembered those shivers…as if a cold front had come in…like someone had walked over his grave or something…

…Was that because Momotarou was so…weird? Because he could sense strange things?

After pausing for only a moment, Goushi pushed all thoughts aside. He would not turn something down just because it scared him, maybe! He would not let Momotarou psyche him out with all his bizarre talk of ghosts. He would look at the wound and see for himself the kind of man Momotarou was, a brave one or a dumb ass—

So Goushi grabbed Momotarou’s hand gracelessly and shoved it in front of his face. He inspected the mark with a frown (realizing too late that he was honestly not sure what to look for). In the process, the other man took a few steps forward, closing the distance between them.

God, did this guy have a space issue or something…? 

Goushi glanced up and made direct eye contact with those unrelenting eyes he had been thinking about all day. Their sincerity struck him right away—Momotarou wanted to know what Goushi saw. But also…the other man looked so open. Unguarded for a moment. Curious and at ease.

Did he…trust Goushi?

The thought made the black-haired man swallow against a sudden tickle in his throat that threatened to make him cough. He looked back down at the hand just to have something to do. 

“Umm….well…” Goushi stammered. 

He rubbed his thumb softly against Momotarou’s knuckles. The other man flinched in response.

“Oh sorry, does that hurt?” Shit, what did he do that for? Goushi thought.

“No, it’s….” Momotarou’s eyes darted away. “…sensitive.”

“Really?” Goushi did the same motion again and sure enough, Momotarou flinched. 

How the hell were someone’s hands so sensitive? More curious than ever, Goushi brought his other hand up and stroked the side of Momotarou’s hand that was not hurt. The red-headed singer gasped lightly in response. Seriously? (Of course he was serious, Momotarou hardly knew the meaning of a joke.) 

Well, Goushi thought, stroking the skin there in fascination. The guy did have ridiculously soft hands. Not just soft, but cold also. Actually cold, like he had been holding ice. Was this anemia or something else? Regardless, that long-fingered hand was so delicate inside Goushi’s own. The soft gasps and small movements Momotarou made in response…they were so…

(Cute.)

…Ignoring that word, Goushi felt along the side of the bruise. It was raised and swollen, but it did not look broken at all. So that was a relief.

Alright, so with that answer solved, Goushi could just put this guy’s hand down and move on. But…he did not want to. He wanted to keep holding it, maybe even put a cooling strip on it himself to ease away whatever pain might be there. He wanted to slide his hand farther down Momotarou’s wrist and feel the sensitive skin underneath his forearm and right on his pulse point…

He wanted to lean down and kiss those knuckles, to brush his lips over that wound. He wanted to feel that soft, crisp, delicate skin on his lips and face, to make Momotarou sigh over and over again in relief and sensation. 

“Momotasuuuuu? Where are you?” 

The man in question turned calmly towards the front of the alley, while Goushi dropped his hand like a hot rock. 

Whoa, whoa, whoa…Goushi thought, taking a few steps back, increasing their distance. What the hell had he just been about to do?!

“Coming, Mika-san!” Momotarou called. He turned back around to Goushi, slowly lowering his hand, as if realizing just now that Goushi was finished inspecting him. “So…what do you think?” 

“Uh, it’s…fine, you’re fine…” the THRIVE artist managed to get out. He turned his back on Momotarou, unable to look him in the eye.

Did the other man somehow know what he wanted to do? Could he tell? (Was it part of his…sixth sense, or whatever?) Either way, Goushi could not stand to look at him right now he was so embarrassed, so confused. He was sure that even looking in Momotarou’s direction would make him hone in on the other man’s skin. Oh right, shit, yeah, Momotarou had skin like that all over his body…now Goushi was bound to stare it every time they were together—

“Ah, good. Well…thank you.” Momotarou held his wounded hand clasped in the other. “Um, good night. I’ll see you tomorrow at rehearsal.”

“Yeah. See you tomorrow.”

And so Momotarou walked off towards Mikado on his own, without Goushi turning around again. 

Finally alone, the black-haired artist let out a huge sigh. What was going on with him? Why did being around Momotarou…set him off like this? Why did he make Goushi feel unbalanced, like he had no idea how to act?

Why did he make Goushi want to do… _that_? 

Make no mistake. Goushi had already been with several people (not a ton, but still). He went on dates, he had sex. It was something he enjoyed doing. With both women and men—why the hell not? Being with woman felt great and being with men felt just as good so who cared.

But Momotarou was not the usual kind of guy Goushi liked. The THRIVE artist liked his women feminine and his men manly, that difference made sense to him. And yet, Momotarou was—very decidedly—a pretty boy. In the same category as Aizome. Feminine features and a beautiful demeanor…

Still…besides being pretty, Momotarou was nothing like Aizome. Aizome cut his hair down to millimeter and spent a full hour every morning assembling himself for the day. He never wore the same outfit twice. Beauty for Aizome was a hard-fought battle, something he prided himself on most of all. Momotarou was different: His delicate (albeit…odd) features were soft and downplayed. As if Momotarou just woke up the way he was and didn’t do anything to alter himself. He moved with an easy sort of self-assurance, like he was not concerned how his body looked to other people. He just wanted to perform. 

Those odd eyes….Some idols used contact lenses to make their eyes appear heterochromatic (it was a style of sorts), but Goushi could tell that was not the case with Momotarou. No, those eyes were real. 

Just like everything else about Momotarou: They were honest and strange.

______________________________________________________

Playing the part of the imperialists sucked, but whatever. It was money. At least they would get to perform and make something of a name for B-project just by being a part of it. 

Which was why, when Goushi saw that man—same fucking guy—trying to attack them for real, he could hardly believe it. Really, in spite of everything, he still wanted to mess with them? Why did they have to put up with this shit if they weren’t even getting the lead?

But when that man stretched out his sword-arm toward Momotarou, about to attack him…Goushi lost it. He jumped to defend the red-haired man, swinging his own sword about like it was the feudal era. A weird kind of passion—maybe the kind Okita Souji used to feel, fighting alongside Hijirikata Toshizo, or maybe how Saito Hajime felt defending the honor of the shogun—rose up inside him. 

He would not let anyone else touch Momotarou! Because Momotarou had not done anything wrong. He was a soft, beautiful, strong man who deserved to be treated right, damn it!

The rest of the actors ganged up on them too. Just fine! Goushi would take them all down if he had to!

Sure there was definitely something…weird going on. Even Goushi and Mikado could feel it (though they could not strictly see anything strange). But that was…no matter. Momotarou seemed to handle it. Goushi put everything else out of his mind and focused on keeping everyone else away from his—

Bandmate. Right.

After it was all said and done, they somehow all three managed to get the part of Okita Souji. What a bullshit play. But Goushi smiled and was happy, all the more publicity for them! All the more time he could spend playing with _shinai_ and katanas! All the more time he could spend with…

Momotarou. 

______________________________________________________

“Ne, ne, Kane-san!” Mikado’s green eyes twinkled behind his glasses. 

For a moment, Goushi thought the bespectacled man might be ready to make fun of him again for caring about Momotarou. Which Goushi would firmly deny. If only because…he could not read the red-haired man’s face whenever Mikado brought it up. 

He didn’t want anyone else saying those things about him and Momotarou. Whatever they had going on (if anything, it was probably even nothing, with how normal and apathetic Momotarou was acting as always), it was just between them.

“What.” Goushi glared back at Mikado, daring him to say anything.

Mikado sweated for a moment, waving his hands in front of his face innocently. Then he said, “Can you bring these snacks to Momotasu in his room? He’s practicing lines for the play and he always forgets to eat when he’s like that.” 

The bespectacled man held up a small tray of assorted snacks and a small sandwich. Goushi eyed the tray, staring back at Mikado with hate in his eyes. What the hell was he, some kind of errand boy? 

But…if Momotarou was working himself too hard and not eating, then…fine, Goushi would help him.

So, the THRIVE artist grabbed the tray with a snarl and stormed down the hall to Momotarou’s private room. (And If Mikado was smiling like an idiot, his plot coming to fruition, Goushi remained willfully ignorant.) 

Goushi knocked once on the door and gave a resounding, “Yo..” before sliding open Momotarou’s private room. Here in the rehearsal studio they all had traditional Japanese rooms with tatami mats, traditional low-seated furniture, and futons. Some rooms—like Momotarou’s—even had a veranda where you could stand in the open air and look out at the countryside. 

Which is where Goushi found Momotarou when he invited himself in. The red-haired man was standing on the veranda, elbows perched on the short balcony, wearing a billowy mauve-colored _yukata_. His back was facing the door, so Goushi could only see his rear-half.

Not…an altogether displeasing side of him. The dark _obi_ tied around his hips accentuated the artist’s inwardly curved waist, his slim back, and the barest hint of a pouch of beautiful flesh that was Momotarou’s ass—

“Ah, Kaneshiro-san, thank you for bringing that.”

Goushi nearly jumped in surprise. Momotarou had recognized who he was and what he was holding without even turning around. That creepy guy…

“Uh…sure. It’s from Sekimura, so…” Looking around for a place to set the tray, Goushi put it down on the low table in the middle of the room. 

When he looked up again, Momotarou had turned around and was staring at him. He walked a few steps into the room, his back to the veranda now. Feeling suddenly trapped, Goushi rose slowly, unable to take his eyes off Momotarou. The man’s _yukata_ was pulled open slightly across his chest, mostly because it was not fastened properly. A rare moment of disarray for the MooNs artist, but he probably had not been expecting company. 

The small sliver of pale skin showing from between the partings of the robe…Goushi’s chestnut eyes locked on that skin without hope of tearing themselves away.

“I see.” Momotarou’s heterochromatic eyes purveyed the feast in front of him. “Well, this is really too much food for me. Would you like to stay and share a meal with me, Kaneshiro-san?” 

Goushi blushed. Damn it, Momotarou could clearly see where he was staring now—the guy was looking right at him! Why couldn’t Goushi bring himself to look away from that beautiful, mostly hidden chest…? 

“Uh, no, thanks. I…should get going…” 

Forcing his eyes closed, Goushi turned to leave. The fact that they were alone in a room with a closed door had never been more apparent. Goushi felt a tingling sensation spreading across his own skin, a kind of restlessness…

He wanted…well, but that’s…he couldn’t just ask for it…could he?

“Wait.” Momotarou took a few more steps closer. Goushi reluctantly turned around to look at him. 

Ah, damn it, this close he could see all of Momotarou’s skin shining with untouchable grace. His odd eyes piercing him to the core, checking for honesty and intention—the two things Goushi did not want to share. 

“I’d like it if you could…keep me company for a bit, Kaneshiro-san. Even if you’re not hungry. We could just…sit here.” Momotarou gestured weakly to the side of his room where a hot plate and kettle sat. “I could make some tea…” 

Goushi looked around nervously. Then he blinked slowly, finally— _finally_ —understanding.

“Do you want me to stay?” the rebellious man asked, cocking his head to one side.

Momotarou held a hand to his chest. Was that—self-consciousness? After all this time? 

“Yes…I do.” And now a blush? What was this?

Fighting down a swirling sense of anticipation, built on top of a soft, volatile bed of excitement, Goushi said, “Okay.” 

They sat down at the table together. Momotarou opened a package of snacks in case Goushi wanted to pick at them. Then he carefully filled the kettle and set it on the hotplate to boil.

They talked for a few moments about the play. About being Okita Souji, about the vision their director had for the show. About how much they enjoyed working on it—in truth, it was a fun assignment. Then finally, about each other.

“Are you happy when you’re performing, Kaneshiro-sam?” Momotarou asked studiously, pulling his _yukata_ closed for some reason.

Disappointed to see that skin hide away again, Goushi shrugged. “Um, I don’t know. I guess so, yeah. It feels good when…people clap for you, you know? If they can really appreciate your music or whatever.” 

Momotarou looked down at the table, deathly still. “Mm.” 

Was that…not a good answer? What the hell else did the man want from him? He was here, damn it, giving in to this constant want he had to be near Momotarou and to talk to him…giving in, almost against his will.

“Do you…Onzai?” Goushi asked hesitantly. 

“I do.” Momotarou nodded seriously. “But I sometimes wonder…if it’s enough.” 

The hell kind of response was that? Goushi frowned. “Enough for who?” 

Momotarou opened his mouth to speak, then closed it rapidly without saying anything. 

They sat in silence after that. Goushi looked out the open door to the veranda, noticing that it was getting dark outside. When he looked back at Momotarou, he saw the other man’s odd eyes reflecting the waning sunlight, as if capturing what was left of the day. It was a fascinating look and Goushi’s mouth hung open a little as he regarded him. 

“…What is it…?” Momotarou whispered, showing no emotion in his voice or face, looking down vaguely in that way he had.

“It’s just…” 

Goushi wanted to say that he could see all kinds of things in Momotarou’s eyes. Beauty, oddity, kindness, apathy, a special brand of narcissism…and, most surprisingly, insecurity. 

What the hell did Momotarou have to be insecure about? This man, who should be held up as a standard of looks and ambition? Goushi would not stand for it!

Without waiting for permission, Goushi pushed back the bangs on the left side of Momotarou’s face. The singer gasped, not expecting that touch, nor Goushi’s other hand cupping his chin and forcing him to look towards Goushi. 

Fingers trembling with the strong desire to touch, Goushi stroked the side of Momotarou’s face with his fingertips. Oh yeah, that skin was just as soft here. Crazy soft! How the hell did he get it to be like this…?

And those lips, thin but perfectly arched in the middle, like someone had drawn them on with a brush. Goushi ran his thumb over those lips, trying not to moan when Momotarou inhaled sharply. 

They stared at each other. Both unsure, for a moment. 

Then—much like he had on that day waiting for the bus—Momotarou relaxed. His shoulders dropped. He exhaled calmly, his features gathering into a look of self-confidence. Goushi felt his breath again and this time, he thought he could faintly smell clean mint.

Momotarou smiled softly once. Then he leaned in and pressed their mouths together for a kiss. 

Goushi’s body froze. Those delicate, perfect lips on his own…he could sense every part of Momotarou’s body hanging in suspension near his own. He felt cold suddenly, a cold he recognized. His body shivered once and then—he realized how totally fucking turned on he was.

But shit, this guy had kissed _him_?! How embarrassing!

To make up for it, Goushi wrapped his arms around Momotarou’s shoulders and waist. He pulled the other man against him roughly, excitement spiking in his abdomen when he heard Momotarou cry out behind his closed lips.

Smiling, trying not to lose himself to the building tension, Goushi ran his tongue over Momotarou’s lips, tasting. Impatient, he dragged his tongue across the other man’s chin and to his neck. Time to see if Momotarou was just as sensitive everywhere else on his body…

“Ah!” 

A small cry. Barely there. But Goushi heard it. He could also feel Momotarou going tense in his arms, bracing himself against Goushi’s tongue attacking his neck, shivering. Goushi could feel Momotarou’s fingers digging into his own shoulders, trying to withstand it…

Goushi trailed one hand lower to the partings of Momotarou’s _yukata._ He pushed it open again, dying to see that teasing chest, pulling the garment off of one shoulder in the process. Such a sight—this cold, ethereal man, bared and panting in his arms—drove Goushi wild. He bit down (harder than he meant to) on Momotarou’s exposed shoulder.

“Ah…ha!”

Fuck yes, another cry. Goushi bit and sucked his way across the red-haired man’s chest. He lapped at Momotarou’s sternum, reveling in the benign taste and velour softness of his skin. Driven to a height of need, Goushi sucked one nipple into his mouth and licked it mercilessly. 

At that, Momotarou collapsed forward with a wordless moan. Goushi caught him in his arms, head swimming with desire.

“I…” the psychic began. “I can’t…withstand it…when you do it like that…” 

Goushi smirked. Those words—pure honesty, as always. They made Goushi feel so powerful, so skilled…even if he really wasn’t and Momotarou was just sensitive, he couldn’t care less. Goushi wanted to bring the other man to edge of what he could handle, then push him over, watch him fall. Watch all that carefully constructed ennui evaporate underneath Goushi’s own mouth and hands.

Oh shit, Goushi was hard. So, so hard. Crazy hard. When was the last time he had gotten like this in such a short time? Had he ever…?

Choosing to ignore that, Goushi pressed Momotarou backward onto the floor. The slim man shivered in his arms, legs parting beneath Goushi in an unspoken invitation. So, how much did this man want him in return? Goushi wondered…

The THRIVE artist shoved his hand between Momotarou’s legs, grabbing a fistful of what he found with a vengeance.

“K-kaneshiro-san!” Momotarou yelled, louder than Goushi had ever heard before.

Smirking, Goushi kissed him on the mouth to silence him. He massaged the thick, covered bulge in his hand until Momotarou was positively writing against him. His _yukata_ was coming undone from the movement, and the typically stoic man already looked a mess.

Pulling away to let him breathe, Goushi smiled and said, “Jeez, call me ‘Goushi’ already, will you?” 

Momotarou’s odd eyes stared back at him, flashing with intense desire and…warmth. The red-haired man smiled in return.

“…Alright. Then…you can call me Momo.” 

A thick stream of laughter threatened to bubble out of Goushi. Really? He could just call him that girly, weird name?

The psychic must have been able to see that reaction on his face because he hurried to say, “B-but only when we’re in private!” 

Goushi took a deep breath and nodded. This guy—this crazy, wonderful guy—was going to make him lose his mind, wasn’t he? He was just so damn cute. 

Attacking that delicious neck again with bites and licks, Goushi let loose some of his control. He wanted to take Momotarou—roughly and quickly—from that moment until neither of them could stand it anymore. But he knew Momotarou deserved better than that. So no, he would use all of his energy—all of his pent up desire to fuck Momotarou into the floor—to cover the slimmer man in affection and passionate touches. To satisfy every inch of his body until Momotarou felt like he was high on drugs, drunk with ecstasy and relief.

That’s the kind of shit Goushi wanted to do to him. 

…Damn, Goushi realized, as he started undressing Momotarou. He wanted to worship him. 

How embarrassing was that.

_____________________________

 

“Momo…?”

“Yes, ah! Y-yes…oh, god…Goushi…wh-what is, ah!…what is it…?” 

“…Nothing. Just trying out the name.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Might write more about these two. (Ideally, I'd like to get a small fic out after each episode as a response thing, but you know...may not actually happen...)


End file.
